Believe (in me) for me -
by The Readers Muse
Summary: Belief was a tricky thing to define.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own MTV's Teen Wolf or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

 **Authors Note #1:** Part of the "Regress to my mean" series. This story is meant into the plot of chapters 5-6 of "Regress to my mean (and kiss me pretty)". This stand-alone ficlet will not make sense unless you have read that far in the previously mentioned fic. – Written for onedayyoujustchange on tumblr that asked for more Bobby/Chris with the prompt: "believe" as part of a fanfic ask meme. I wanted to use this prompt to examine what was going on in Chris' head after Bobby passed out in the kitchen after what happened in the field in chapters five and six.

 **Warnings:** Spoilers for seasons three and four and one or two vague illusions to things that have happened in season five. *Contains: nudity, blood, guts, gore, canon appropriate violence, smushy feelings.

 **Believe (in me) for me**

The tricky thing about perception was that no matter how evolved the human race became, there would always be that nagging spit of primordial awareness to remind us that at the end of the day, we're still just animals.

It had something to do with the hind brain.

The part that'd never really changed.

Never really evolved along with the rest of us.

He'd learned the hard way over the years that it was a part of him – throwback or not – that deserved its fair share of respect. It was the thing that made you duck just before the bullet left that gun you hadn't noticed until it was too late. It was the feeling deep in your gut that roiled and twisted seconds before you were jumped from behind. It was nature's way of evening the score between predator and prey. Something that harkened back to the first and most genuine reason people would always be afraid of the dark.

Kate had laughed at him for it, but it was the reason he was still alive.

So, _hell yes,_ he listened.

And the morning Allie Henson was found alive - the one where Bobby had appeared out of no-where after being out of sight for hours, looking grouchy and slightly ill with the girl asleep in the crook of him like she belonged there - that little part of him started _screaming_.

He didn't know why.

But he _had_ believed in it.

Even when he hadn't believed how Bobby found her, he'd believed _in_ Bobby. To most people the conjunction would be incompatible. But he'd been around his fair share of bad people - killers, even - and never once had he figured Bobby for one.

Something was off - different.

That much was obvious.

But it hadn't been that.

 _Never that._

* * *

Belief was a tricky thing to define.

Especially for someone with his history.

Some people found it in religion.

Others in science.

Loved ones.

Their profession.

Children.

Close friends.

Hobbies.

 _But for him?_ _  
_  
Well, he finally understood the core of the thing the same moment Bobby's voice - bemused, shell-shocked and absolutely _alive_ \- answered their knock on the front door the morning after what happened on the field.

Realizing in one encompassing rush, that for him, belief was Bobby staring up at them - naked and smeared with dirt across the kitchen tiles. It was his voice, wavering-thin and distracted until their eyes locked. Keeping him there, hovering and breathless, as the others crowded around them.

Belief was the small smile making tracks across Bobby's face seconds before he'd passed clean out. The back of his hand smacking dully across the floor to show off blood-rimmed cuticles and pale human nails where he knew not long ago there'd been sharp black ones. Giant claws that had torn through the deep sod of the playing field and cut through Kate's berserkers like they were tissue paper. _Child's play._

Inadvertently introducing a brand-new tier of ability and power to the world without even so much as a pause for dramatic effect as the massive bear exploded out of the trees with a deafening roar. Blending into the foggy mist in a way he didn't know was possible for something of that size – almost as if the air was moving _around_ it. Charging in and out of the fog with a force he could actually _feel_ in his joints before coming back to circle around them protectively. Keeping them safe and tearing down her berserkers one by one until Kate was turning tail and escaping into the trees. Running scared as a brand new nightmare nipped at her heels.

Only this time it wasn't like that at all.

 _It was Bobby._

Somehow, he'd known that from the start.

* * *

Belief was the feeling he couldn't quite bring himself to define swelling thick in the center of his throat as every inch he had left to give _ached_ for it.

* * *

He didn't register he'd moved until Derek and Parrish followed him down. Too close on either side as Derek's eyes glowed Beta blue and Parrish visibly slumped in relief when his fingers found Bobby's pulse beating strong.

 _Just like he knew it would be._

Part of him balked at the lapse, realizing he was blanking on the details. Like how Scott and Stiles had crossed the room without him noticing. Peering out through the open door that lead out into the backyard. How Malia was frowning, sniffing the air with glinting eyes. Worse, how Lydia had already crossed the length of the house, returning with that blue blanket he remembered seeing on the couch more than once since he and Bobby had started spending time with each other. But the other part was hyper-focused on the solid rise and fall of Bobby's chest. Grabbing the blanket from Lydia the moment she came in range and covering the man's lower half with it. Exchanging looks with the sheriff as they checked him for injuries but found none. Keeping one hand protective and firm around the curl of Bobby's shoulders as the others talked in hushed voices. Fighting the rising urge to drag him away. Away from prying eyes. Away so it was just them.

 _Safe._

"His pulse is steady. No injuries. Not even a god damned paper cut. If I hadn't seen her rip into him I'd have no idea he'd even been-"

The silver flash of the first javelin piercing through the skull armor of closest berserker was a visceral thing when his mind flashed back to it. But it was a hundred times worse when that dagger had gone through Bobby's chest. When Katie had slashed his back open to the spine – sinews and muscles trying their best to slip out of his skin as she sliced them down – _deep_.

She'd been laughing when she did it.

 _Gloating._

She used to have a nice laugh.

"Whatever he is, his healing powers aren't like anything I've ever seen," Derek responded, interrupting the sheriff before Stiles could break in. "There's no supernatural creature I know of that can heal like that. Not from those kind of wounds. Most wolves wouldn't have been able to survive that, let alone a person. An Alpha maybe, but-"

Bobby hadn't come onto the field as anything other than he was.

He'd come with human intentions.

Human weapons.

Human fear.

It hadn't been calculated.

It'd just _been._

Running full tilt into something he couldn't have possibly understood.

"How is this even possible?" Stiles broke in, looking like he wanted to pace only Bobby was taking up all the space. "How exactly did we miss this? _Us-_ the Supernatural A-Team. It was a giant ass were- _whatever_. Werebear? Look, I don't care what we call it! Are you telling me its been roaming around Beacon Hills all this time? And Coach? I mean come on!?"

The fascinating part, in retrospect, had been the way Bobby's expression had changed the moment he'd jammed the flare gun into the berserker's mouth and pulled the trigger. Lighting it up from the inside before he was tossed away like a rag doll into the thick brush. It was like a switch had been flipped. One that not even Bobby had known was there, dusty and forgotten in the dark. Give him a hundred years and he still wouldn't know how to describe it, watching in real time as the unsteady etch-work of shock and pain melted away. Replaced by something almost-

"He doesn't know," he said hoarsely. Knowing it. _Believing it -_ as the others turned to look at him.

"He doesn't know?" Scott repeated slowly. Like it was a new phrase he was trying out. Frowning down at him as Bobby's head lolled gently against his thigh. "He doesn't know he's a-"

"He doesn't," he rasped, gesturing down at him as Bobby twitched in his sleep. One hand curling loosely around the worn flare of his old jeans. Expression settling into a slight frown before sleep smoothed it away again. "Look at him. Look at what happened on the field. He didn't know. He was fighting as a person. _Himself._ Not what we saw come out of those woods afterwards. Whatever he is. Whatever _this_ is. He doesn't know."

The silence was edgy and uncomfortable before the Sheriff broke it.

"Christ," the man grunted. Knuckling awkwardly at the back of his head before he gestured to Parrish and hunkered down beside him. "Come on, let's get him up and onto something before he wakes up. Stiles, get some clean water- if he wakes up covered in blood and dirt- well- I think we have enough on our hands, don't you? Alright- on three. One, two, three!"

* * *

For him belief was not knowing what was going to happen when Bobby woke up. While at the same time knowing deep down to the very heart of him that all of them – all of Beacon Hills – had never been safer than they were right now.

He didn't know why.

But he believed.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think.


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